


There’s always time for love (even at the end of the world)

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Jealousy, M/M, Some light angst, mentions of past character death, some light pining, somewhat silly, the problem with zombie apocalypse is that people die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Who has time to fall in love during an zombie apocalypse?And yet, the dashing hero always seems to fall in love with the damsel in distress he has just rescued.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So… this. I’ve been watching too many zombies movies lately, because my daughter just loves them (I kid you not, I’ve seen more zombies movies in these last 2 months since she discovered Resident Evil than I have in the rest of my life) and well… the idea pop inside my head and I figured it’d be better if I wrote it down before it got the chance to turn into a monster of a fic :P  
> So… enjoy!

“Sherlock.  _ Sherlock, _ ” John hisses urgently, but as usual, the mad genius ignores him. John groans quietly, risking a glance over his hiding place. He curses as he drops down once more, heart beating loudly, clutching his gun close to his chest. He can see Sherlock sneaking quietly along the lab, hiding behind the tables, entirely too close to the hoard of eating zombies. They’re distracted right now, of course, but if they catch a whiff of fresh meat…

John doesn’t want to even contemplate it.

Sherlock opens one of the cabinets, sorting through glass vials. The soft clicks of the glasses makes John anxious, so he keeps his gun carefully trained on the hoard of undead creatures. They’re not that many, but he’s not quite confident he could take them all before they got to Sherlock.

Meanwhile his friend seems to have found what he came looking for. He smiles, pleased with himself, carefully placing the vials inside the small carrier bag. Not the safest place for them, certainly, but beggars can’t be choosers and all that.

John watches in horror as one of the glasses inside the cabinet rolls away, unnoticed by Sherlock. He would warn him, but doing so would give away their position and so the end result would be the same. The glass smashes against the floor, making enough noise to distract the zombies from their half eaten meal.

Crap. This is bad, very bad.

Just then, there’s a loud noise coming from the hall, as if something heavy had just fell. A couple of gunshots follow and the zombies seem to decide not to focus on the broken glass and what caused it and instead follow the commotion outside. John finds himself breathing easier and he hurries to Sherlock’s side, who’s looking thoroughly shaken.

“You’ll be happy now,” John murmurs darkly, taking the bag from him. “You almost got us killed.” Sherlock opens his mouth to protest, but a woman’s scream coming from outside startles them. They exchange a look and then Sherlock bolts out of the lab and John curses silently before following.

They arrive to another lab, where a large hoard of zombies has gathered. John is fairly certain that whoever screamed is doomed anyway and it won’t do to alert the zombies of their presence, but he also knows Sherlock is incapable of leaving someone in need behind. It’s suicidal, in his opinion, but his own conscience urges him to help and so he nods somberly when Sherlock looks in his direction.

This trip is definitely not going as planned.

* * *

 

It’s just their luck, John thinks miserably, that the woman they ended up rescuing was Dr. Irene Adler, one of the most notorious microbiologist researchers in the world. In fact, before this whole nightmare began, Dr. Adler had written several papers and done a lot of research on the undead-virus and why it was plain crazy to continue developing it (as if thousands of zombie-movies weren’t illustrative enough).

Now, the fact that the woman is alive and now working with Sherlock in his own search for the cure to the horrible epidemy. is a good thing, John supposes. No, scratch that. John is certain that it’s a good thing: he’s always had full faith in his brilliant friend, but now that he’s being aided by someone as smart and capable as Dr. Adler, his chances of success have improved significantly.

The problem, (which shouldn’t be a problem really, because the world is ending and so survival of the human race should be among John’s priorities) is that Dr. Adler is also unfairly beautiful. Add that to her impressive intelligence and of course Sherlock has become fascinated with her.

How crazy is it that his friend had to wait for the world to be ending for him to fall in love for the first time?

And so yes, John is feeling bitter. He’s been Sherlock’s friend for over 3 years, having met him shortly after finishing Uni, when he was in desperate need of a place to live and Sherlock had had an empty room and not enough money to continue paying for his flat on his own. He’s been in love with him for almost as long: impossible not to, considering how utterly fascinating the man is. But he had kept his feelings to himself, because Sherlock always claimed to be  _ married to his work   _ and then the world was ending and there wasn’t any time for romance.

Except, apparently, there’s plenty of time for that if one finds the right person.

He sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly. This is ridiculous really.

A light knock on his door startles him out of his dark thoughts and he turns to look at the newcomer. Dr. Adler stands by the door, one eyebrow arched, amused at something apparently.

John takes a deep breath, willing himself not to lose his temper. It’s hardly the woman’s fault to be this attractive. “Is there something I can help you with, Dr. Adler?”

She steps into the room, looking around curiously. John shifts on his feet, suddenly self conscious although he chides himself immediately. The room is pretty bare, as every other room in the bunker-like facility. He has prevented himself from adding any persona touches, never having been one to care about  _ decoration.  _

“Sherlock has required your presence at the lab,” she says, a sly smile on her lips.

“Right,” John murmurs, unnerved by her smile for some reason. He moves to leave the room, but the woman’s voice stops him on his tracks.

“I wonder why he finds your presence so vital for the research,” she says and John turns to face her one more. “You’re nothing more than a regular doctor.”

John bites his lip to avoid saying something nasty. The woman arches an eyebrow, challengingly and the blond glares, before taking off his shirt. Her eyes widen as she takes in the huge scar on his left shoulder and approaches him warily, eyes fixed on it. “You were bitten,” she murmurs, fingers tracing the raised skin hesitantly, curious and impressed in equal measure.

“Two years ago,” John confirms, jaw clenching involuntarily as the memory of those horrible, filled with uncertainty days comes to mind. When the whole mess had started, he had joked with Sherlock that if he got bitten, he could use him to experiment on as much as his heart wished. When he had been indeed bitten, Sherlock hadn’t been able to even think straight, instead mumbling useless assurances that he was going to be fine.

In the end, John had talked to Mycroft, who had agreed to lock him up in a security facility before he started turning. Sherlock had been beyond himself, yelling at everyone, but in the end he had had to admit it was a great opportunity to examine what exactly happened to someone who had been bitten. For 3 days they had waited, Sherlock sitting just outside John’s cell, waiting for something to change. But other than running a nasty fever, John had been perfectly fine, conscious all the time and he hadn’t turned.

A miracle indeed.

“You’re immune,” Irene murmurs, fingers still tracing the scar. “He’s using your blood to develop a cure.” John nods, not particularly liking how it sounds when she puts it like that. He likes to believe Sherlock does care for him and likes to have him around, not that he only keeps him because he’s useful.

He smiles at the woman tightly before putting his shirt back on and heading towards the lab.

Sherlock is asking for him, after all.

* * *

 

“You don’t like her,” Sherlock comments off handedly later that day, after Irene retires to her room for the night. He’s going to stay working late, as he usually does and John is going to keep him company, also as usual.

John shrugs non committedly, not really wanting to discuss the subject. Sherlock frowns, looking up from whatever he’s examining in the microscope. “Why?”

John takes a deep breath before shrugging once more. His friend narrows his eyes at him and the doctor knows he’s not going to let the matter drop until he has the answers he wants. “It’s just- well. I always thought it was ridiculous that in all this end-of-the-world movies the dashing hero managed to find time to fall in love with the mysterious woman he rescued at the beginning of the film. But apparently, there is indeed time for love even when hoards of zombies are rummaging around.”

Sherlock’s frown has deepened, evidently confused by John’s words and the blond sighs, thinking he really  _ really  _ doesn’t want to discuss the subject. “That seems contradictory,” Sherlock says slowly, almost reluctantly. “You just said you don’t like her and yet you’re apparently in love with her?”

“What?!” John exclaims, slightly horrified.

“You said  _ the dashing hero- _ ”

“I meant you!” John exclaims, starting pacing around the room, feeling trapped. Sherlock observes him in silence, still frowning.

“I’m no hero,” Sherlock murmurs finally, looking away. “And certainly not  _ dashing _ .” John snorts, making Sherlock turn to him. “In any case, I’m not in love with Dr. Adler.”

“Oh, please,” John scoffs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Not that I can blame you: the woman is gorgeous, not to mention a bloody genius. Really, you couldn’t be best matched.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “Except for the fact that we’re both gay.”

“What?” John finds himself asking once more, his heart skipping a beat as he feels his hopes raising. Which is ridiculous, because the fact that Sherlock likes men in general doesn’t make it any more likely that he fancies John in particular.

His friend huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Really, John,” he says, annoyed. “How could you not know?”

John blinks. He just never considered it, if he must be honest. It never seemed to matter before. “So you don’t like her?” he asks, just to make sure he’s got that right and it’s Sherlock’s turn to roll his eyes.

“No. I find her interesting and her mind is a thing of beauty, but I don’t like her like that.” John nods, relieved and Sherlock offers him a small smile before turning his attention back to the microscope. “And I do agree the end of the world is not the time to be falling in love,” he whispers, almost as if talking to himself. “But sometimes it can’t be helped.”

“What do you mean?” John asks after a brief pause when Sherlock’s words have sunk in. The younger man sighs, looking up at him, biting his lip gently and John’s treacherous heart skips a beat once more.

“Exactly that,” Sherlock says tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Although to be fair, I was already in love with you before this whole mess started. But afterwards- well, I figured it wasn’t the time to discuss it.”

John must be hearing things. “What?”

Sherlock glares. “Really John, now’s not the time-”

“You’re in love me?”

Sherlock blinks, as if confused by the question. “You didn’t know?” John shakes his head and Sherlock frowns. “Why did you think I was so upset after you got bitten?”

“Because I’m your friend?” John suggests and Sherlock nods, conceding his point. Although, in retrospective- “Oh god. You were really going to kiss me, weren’t you? And I- Oh god.”

“Yes,” Sherlock says, jaw clenched tight. “I assumed you simply weren’t interested.”

“In my defense, I thought I was dying. Or turning into a brain eating zombie, so really-”

“There’s no actual evidence the undead prefer brains over any other organ, John. We’ve been through this before-”

John laughs, shaking his head as he makes his way towards his friend, who interrupts his speech, looking wary at John’s approach. The doctor smiles once he’s standing in front of him and leans down to kiss him chastely on the lips, prompting a surprised yelp from the scientist.

“Oh,” Sherlock murmurs quietly, placing his fingers over his lips. “That was… umm…”

“Want me to do it again so you can gather more data?”

“Yes, please.”

John laughs at Sherlock’s eager expression before complying, humming contently into the kiss. Sherlock throws his arms around his neck, pulling him closer, ignoring the awkward position they’re in. John smiles into the kiss, thinking that all those silly movies were right about something:

There’s always time for love. Even at the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> It’s rather short and I fear the ending seems a bit rushed. I’m not used to writing one-shots to be honest, so I always feel very unsure on the rare occasions I do.  
> I hope you liked it regardless! Let me know what you thought and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Too many zombie movies and now too many zombie books…  
> Anyway, enjoy?

“That’s disgusting.”

Molly hums in acknowledgment, not looking up from what’s she’s doing. This is delicate work after all and it wouldn’t do to get distracted. Besides, she’s used to random exclamations of disgust when people walk into her while she’s in the middle of cutting a body open.

“What are you doing?” her companion asks, covering her mouth and nose with her hand. Molly would take a deep breath to calm herself since she’s quite annoyed at having been interrupted, but that’s probably inadvisable considering the body’s level of decomposition.

“Working,” she snaps, extracting what used to be a stomach. She frowns a bit, intrigued by how… juicy it still looks and places it carefully on the scale before making some annotations on her notebook.

“I can see that,” Irene says, completely oblivious to Molly’s raising temper. “But what-”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Molly asks, finally looking at her, tone falsely cheery. “Someone else to bother, like Sherlock, for example? Aren’t you two working on something?”

Irene smirks and Molly begins to suspect she was trying to get a raise out of her all along. “Yes, well,” Irene says, shrugging. “He’s in the middle of _ something _ with Dr. Watson. Should have known better than to set them up, really.”

Molly huffs. “You didn’t  _ set them up.  _ It was a matter of time before they realized they were in love with each other.” She smiles a bit, happy for the silly pair. “The guys and I had a bit of a bet going on, actually.”

Irene smirks once more. “I know. Guess who got the money?”

“That’s cheating,” Molly protests, crossing her arms over her chest and smearing her lab coat on the process. She makes a face, disgusted by the black goo now clinging to her. “Ugh. Look at what you’ve caused.”

“Me? I’ve done nothing!” Irene exclaims, batting her eyelashes  innocently, amused more than anything and Molly huffs once more, weighing her options. On one hand, it’s disgusting having body bits clinging to you; on the other, it’s not like she has lab coats to spare, not to mention cleaning supplies. 

“What do you want anyway?” Molly repeats, her practical side winning the battle over the side of her that finds decaying body parts  _ yucky.  _ Irene arches an eyebrow, amused and Molly rolls her eyes, going back to her work, figuring she’s not going to get an answer.

“Well, as I said, I got the bet money,” Irene says, tone suddenly…  _ sultry  _ and that can’t be good, can it? “I was thinking… maybe I could treat you to dinner.”

Molly blinks. And blinks once more. “We’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse,” she says and Irene smirks.

“Yeah, I kinda noticed. Is that a no?”

Molly blinks once more. “Restaurants aren’t a thing anymore. In fact, money is not even needed anymore, so the whole bet was…”

“Yes, yes, I get your point. Is that a no to dinner?” Irene is still smiling, but it looks a bit forced now. Molly stares at her for another second, chewing on her lip, wondering what is the older woman on about.

“I don’t think now it’s really the time for romance,” she murmurs softly, staring at the insides of the body on the slab, using the  _ actual zombie  _ to remind herself this is not the time to be looking for a relationship _.  _

“So that’s a no,” Irene says and from the corner of her eye Molly can see her expression falling before her usual detached mask reappears. “Well then. I’ll let you work now, Dr. Hooper.”

And with that she’s gone, leaving Molly wondering what the hell has just happened.

And why does she feel she has just made the biggest mistake of her life?

* * *

 

Molly Hooper had always been fascinated with the supernatural. She liked ghost stories and tales of vampires and werewolves, but her actual passion were zombies. Her parents found her love for the undead a little unnerving, but they did indulge her in her morbid fascination.

She thinks that that might have played a role when choosing her career.

She had liked working in the morgue: it had been quiet and interesting and the dead always had had tales to tell, even if not by any conventional means. She hadn’t mind the blood and the viscus and the odor, although she had understood why people found it disgusting. She however had loved her work and had never let anyone make her feel weird for it.

The day everything went to hell, her fascination with zombie tales and her quick thinking was what saved her and her companions.

Having watched far too many zombie movies back in her day, Molly knew that the suddenly reanimated bodies in the morgue couldn’t be good. Her assistant, a young boy by the name of Tom had been working on extracting a liver from their newest body when they heard it: an inexplicable tud coming from the next room. Molly had frowned and Tom had gone to investigate. When Molly heard his muffled exclamation of surprise, she had grabbed a scalpel and followed him. 

As she expected, the body that one her colleagues had just finished examining had suddenly sat up and was now looking around the room, a vacant expression on its face. There were stitches running across its chest and abdomen, from where the doctors had been revising its internal organs. There was also a big slash running across its throat: the original cause of death.

Tom had made to approach the reanimated corpse and Molly had pushed him out of the way. The undead had made a grab for her then and Molly had sunk her scalpel right through its eye. The zombie convulsed for a couple of seconds and then fell back on the slab, dead once more.

Noises coming from the room they had just exited alerted her this wasn’t just a random incident.

And so years and years of zombie obsession finally paid off.

* * *

 

Molly stares at the police badge hidden at the bottom of the drawer of her night table.

She takes it out slowly, holding it carefully as if it could break if it isn’t handled with care. She runs her fingers over reverently, as if it was a talisman. She smiles a bit sadly as her fingers trace the letters beneath the emblem, thinking of the badge’s original owner.

The apocalypse it’s really not the time to go falling in love, but in the movies of her childhood, the hero always got the girl. She used to roll her eyes at how cliched it all seemed, but she thinks she’s beginning to understand: the world as you know it has ended, so you cling to anything that gives you a sense of normalcy.

Which is ridiculous, really. The facility they’re currently in is supposed to be one of the safest in the country, but no one can guarantee anything. As far as she’s concerned, they all could be dead by this time tomorrow so really… what’s the point of getting attached?

Although she supposes she already has: she cares for Sherlock and John and DI Lestrade and maybe even for Sherlock’s  _ slightly creepy _ brother. Then again, they’re the only members left of her original party: Tom shoot himself after getting bitten, Anderson got caught by a group of undead while they were hunting for supplies and Stella…

She drops the badge back in it’s hiding place and closes the drawer in a hurry. There are tears attempting to escape her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall, instead choosing to focus on her night routine. She takes off her clothes and folds them neatly, putting on her pajamas shortly after. She picks up her toothbrush and toothpaste and yanks the door open with a little too much strength.

She stops to take a breath, trying to calm herself down and her eyes end up falling on her drawer once more. She blinks tears away once more and hesitates for a beat before picking up the badge once more.

She has clearly lost her mind.

She murmurs angrily to herself all the way to the bathroom, telling herself she’s being ridiculous. Irene sort of asking her out shouldn’t have affected her so; there’s really no reason-

“What’s that?” Molly jumps, startled by the sudden voice in the previously empty bathroom. Irene is standing behind her, one eyebrow arched amusedly and Molly glares before continuing washing her teeth determinately.

Irene rolls her eyes, sliding next to her and picking up the badge Molly has been forced to put down. The redhead attempts to recover it immediately, but Irene is taller and so she manages to keep it out of her reach easily. “S. Hopkins. Friend of yours?”

Molly clenches her jaw, looking away. Yes, she supposes they were. They never got the time to be something else, although all the signs had been there: the too long stares, the nervous giggles, the awkward flirting on Molly’s part and Stella’s much more confident one. 

“Oh,” Irene murmurs softly, biting her lip. “I’m sorry.” She offers her a small smile and Molly snatches her badge back, feeling oddly raw.

“It’s fine,” she argues, holding the badge close to her chest, tears in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t- I just-”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Irene interrupts, placing a hand over her shoulder. “I- I understand.”

Does she? Molly offers her a tight smile before brushing past her, ignoring the way her skin seems to tingle wherever their skin touched. “Molly!” Irene calls and she stops, not turning around to face her, but listening. “My offer still stands. The world is ending, but our lives haven’t. Just think about it.”

Molly looks over her shoulder. “Friday, at 7?” she asks hesitantly, her voice a barely audible whisper since she’s not really sure she wants this, and yet Irene’s smile is bright as the sun as she nods.

She thinks she might come to regret it.

But she thinks she’ll regret the _ not knowing for sure  _ more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts anyone?  
> I think this will remain a series of snippets, so I’m still marking it as finished but I might eventually write more and other pairings :P  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out! Let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
